


Unworthy

by Stylin_Breeze



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hazing, Ostracism, Situational Humiliation, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stylin_Breeze/pseuds/Stylin_Breeze
Summary: Kitagawa Daiichi has a tradition for its first-years, and Kindaichi is the unsuspecting target of that tradition this year.
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797484
Kudos: 19
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Unworthy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lozza342](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lozza342/gifts).



> For spoiler reasons, the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt and character this fic was written for is in the endnotes.

While Oikawa was humming, Iwaizumi was frowning. Kitagawa Middle School third-year Tooru Oikawa wasn’t aware of Iwaizumi’s mood, but once he saw it as they neared the clubroom, Tooru instantly knew the cause.

“Iwa-chan, don’t be so frowny! Your face will freeze like that, and you’ll be ugly forever!”

Hajime Iwaizumi delivered an uppercut to Oikawa’s jaw. Oikawa faux cried, but then a third-year yelled to hurry them into the clubroom.

It had been a month since the new batch of first-years joined Kitagawa’s team, and now it was time for a certain third-year Kitagawa tradition to make its annual appearance.

“This is so cruel,” Iwaizumi complained when Oikawa took off running after their peer.

“Iwa-chan! It’s tradition!” the setter exclaimed, before his tune shifted spitefully. “Besides, this is the only chance to get rid of that snobby new setter.”

Iwaizumi wanted to label Oikawa the snobbish one, not Tobio Kageyama, but held back when they entered the room. The curtains were tightly shut, and a fake candle in the center of the floor tried unconvincingly to emulate a cultic gathering.

“Now we need to decide who’s going through the ritual,” the third-year captain announced to his four acolytes. “So, who’s the weakest of the new recruits?”

Oikawa promptly volunteered an opinion.

“Tobio! He’s awful, he’s stinky, he’s rude, and his sets suck!”

“The only right thing about what you just said was, ‘He’s rude!’” exclaimed the vice-captain incredulously and then offered his own thoughts. “What about that Kunimi kid? He seems too super laidback.”

“Ooh, yeah!” another third-year cried.

“No,” the captain said, shaking his head. “Yeah, he’s slow and a bit lazy, but when he gets in the game, he’s not that bad….” He thought a bit more and said: “I vote that tall kid. Kinda-whatever.”

“But he’s so big!”

“That’s his only talent though!” the captain declared forthrightly. The vice-captain grimaced. He didn’t agree that height was Yuutarou Kindaichi’s only talent, but their captain liked to run the show.

“Is Kunimi really that athletic though?” posed the other third-year.

“He’ll grow,” the captain dismissed, having a soft spot for Akira Kunimi’s personality because he used to be a bit like him.

“Then I guess it’s Kindaichi,” the vice-captain relented, and the other third-year concurred out of futility. Oikawa and Iwaizumi didn’t cast a vote, the majority having already been decided. Iwaizumi hated this, but he couldn’t overrule the captain.

“All right then,” declared the captain. “Tomorrow we’ll carry out the ritual, and then Kindaichi will never show up to club again.”

Kitagawa first-year Yuutarou Kindaichi took a long swig of his water bottle during a lull in practice.

“Ugh, you’re going to have to pee so bad after this,” his teammate Akira Kunimi scoffed, having the urge to go just looking at Kindaichi.

“I don’t want to get thirsty, OK?” Kindaichi exclaimed, a bit taken aback that Kunimi wanted to take it so personally.

Kunimi shrugged and went on his way. Notwithstanding his teammate’s apparent aversion to the restroom, Yuutarou rather liked the quiet first-year. The pair certainly got along better than they did with the young setter Tobio Kageyama, whose constant requests for afterhours practice were beginning to grate.

Kageyama would not be requesting extra practice tonight though. The third-years said they had special plans for the end of today’s practice.

When the gym was all cleaned up, the oldest members of the club filed in and lined up in a neat row. Senior setter Tooru Oikawa and ace Hajime Iwaizumi stood at one end of the row of five, Iwaizumi’s face stolid but inwardly discontent.

“It’s time for the Annual Kitagawa Daiichi Volleyball Club Welcoming Rite. First-years, line up! Second-years, you’re dismissed!”

Some of the second-years snickered on their way out, knowing exactly what was about to happen. Some had begged to play a part but were shooed away.

The six first-years who joined the team that year all made a row in the center of the gym.

The captain sneered. “Today is your newbies’ initiation. If you pass your tests, you’ll be official members of the squad. First: your phones.”

Everyone’s cell phones were deposited in a basket carried around by the vice-captain. “We’ll give them back when each of you finish. Can’t have anyone cheating and spoiling what’s to come,” the captain slyly beamed.

Another third-year produced a small black cube with a hand-sized hole on top. Iwaizumi glared at the box, well aware of the secret behind the game.

“All your names have been written on a strip of paper and put in this box. We will draw a name at random one at a time. Whoever we pick is the first person to do the initiation. That person will come with us to the clubroom where the proceedings will take place. If you pass, you’ll get your cell phone back and have to leave schoolgrounds right away and go home. Waiting around is not allowed.”

“Oh, seriously? I’m too tired for this,” Kunimi griped.

“Let’s get started,” the captain beamed sinisterly. The vice-captain dug inside the box and pulled out a strip of paper.

“Kunimi,” he read.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Akira said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Oikawa and the third-year with the box stayed put in the gym to guard the others, while Iwaizumi, the captain, and the vice-captain escorted Kunimi to the clubroom. When Akira entered the room, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Suspiciously so.

“All right then. Here’s your task,” the captain pronounced.

“What is it?” Kunimi impatiently asked.

“Do a headstand for three seconds.”

Kunimi thought the captain was joking. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Kunimi hated headstands as much as the next kid, but this assignment was far too extraordinarily simple for the hype. Not that Kunimi would complain about less work, and he proceeded to comply. His headstand had no balance from the get-go, but he tried his best, only to topple onto his spine. He managed it for…

“2.5 seconds,” the vice-captain clicked on a stopwatch.

“Expel me now,” moaned the exasperated first-year.

“Nope. That’s good enough. Welcome to the team.”

“Seriously? This was the lamest thing ever.”

His complaint got no feedback. Iwaizumi looked thoroughly displeased, but Kunimi ignored it and took his cell phone from the basket held by the vice-captain.

“Head on home, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Kunimi gladly accepted the escape.

It took about five minutes in all for the three third-years to return to the gym. The vice-captain drew a new name from the box: “Kaito Hashikami.” And so it continued….

After 15 more minutes passed of the same, only Tobio and Yuutarou remained. Iwaizumi stayed behind this time and still looked to be scowling, but the other third-year watching the pair of juniors in the gym wasn’t conflicted at all. Hajime wished he had been vested with the keys tonight instead of Oikawa.

The others returned once more. The vice-captain tapped Iwaizumi’s shoulder and nodded for him to head home for the night. Hajime frowned. He observed the two remaining, clueless first-years and stormed off.

Kindaichi and Kageyama waited anxiously to hear which of them would go next, but neither knew that in reality only one name remained in the box.

“Kageyama.”

Oikawa, the captain, the vice-captain, and the third-year with the box left too when they took Kageyama away.

“We’ll be back,” said the captain with a cheery wave.

And then the door was shut on the lonesome remainder, Yuutarou Kindaichi.

It normally took about five minutes to complete the cycle for each first-year, but even after 15 minutes passed, no one had returned….

It passed 8 o’clock. The sun had set, and now the only light in the gym was the trapezoidal vortices of moonlight through the windows.

Kindaichi wondered if he’d get in trouble for peeking out to see if his seniors were approaching.

When he tugged on the handles, however, they didn’t budge. He decided it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe they’d locked it to prevent Kindaichi from sneaking away.

They must have locked it because they left him alone. No big deal, he told himself, even as his heart wanted to sink.

He continued to wait….

And waited….

He checked the analog clock in the gym as compulsively as he might his absent phone. Every minute that passed, he told himself his senpais would return in the next.

When the hour hand passed nine, Kindaichi despairingly accepted that nobody was coming.

Kindaichi flattened himself on the cool, laminated floor, staring at the nearly black ceiling, moonlight softly permeating the space.

Trying to explain what had happened made his heart beat anxiously.

Did they forget about him? That was a frightening thought. Did they leave him on purpose? That was even more terrifying, so he stopped pondering it altogether.

He dolefully imagined the unlocking of the gym in the morning, the third-years trotting in, cackling and pointing like schoolyard bullies.

Then he recalled that the basketball club usually came in first. What if their coach found him here and thought he was some delinquent playing a prank? He’d get reported to the principal for breaking school rules.

Even if he did manage to escape the notice of the basketball club, he couldn’t go back to class out of uniform. Yesterday’s school uniforms would be wrinkled from being haphazardly thrown on the floor; if he wore that, he’d get sent home for looking sloppy.

What about showering? It had been the first real hot day of the year, and his gym shirt was crusty with sweat. The air conditioning wasn’t that great in the gym either, so even now, Kindaichi tugged on his shirt collar to relieve the heat from his chest. He’d be the laughing stock of the classroom if he got caught smelling like body odor.

And then, a new, more immediate concern raised its ugly head.

His bladder.

Why did Kunimi have to be right about drinking all that water? The gym didn’t have a bathroom. The thought of holding it for another 7, 8, 9 hours was nightmarish. Kindaichi dismissed the thought and tried to distract himself.

Whatever would come in the morning, he needed to sleep off budding fatigue. He pulled out some towels, laid them out on the gym floor, and tried to sleep. His muscles at first began to relax. Then the muscles around his bladder relaxed too, and Kindaichi shot upright just in time to tighten his groin. He didn’t feel sleepy after that.

His restless mind continued to ponder. He decided begrudgingly that using their towels like a mattress and blankets would make it look like he stayed here on purpose. He folded them back up and resolved to sleep on the bare floor. The laminate in the gym was even less comfortable as a bed than it was to catch one’s fall. Kindaichi’s shoulder felt like it shifted out of alignment when he laid on his side. He kept his hips tight to spare his groin a mishap.

Unable to calm his mind, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling in the ambient moonlight.

Maybe the third-years hated him…

That had to be it. They didn’t want him on the team. That was the only explanation for why they’d deprived him of the welcoming rite—oblivious that this torture was the _real_ club tradition.

When the gym was unlocked tomorrow, Kindaichi would sneak out, go home, skip school for the day, and never show up to practice again. He’d pee and—

Reminding himself of peeing was a _very_ bad idea.

His legs shook, and he thought he’d wet himself.

His brain began to rationalize. There was no one around, so it’s not like anyone would see if he went in a corner—but they would see come morning. That’d be an even greater sin than sleeping in the gym all night!

He tried to tell his body to wait, but his brain didn’t want to. It was too long until morning.

He had to go now and pondered ways to do it. A few drops escaped and soaked into his shorts.

He checked the storeroom, looking for something—anything—into which he could catch his pee.

Then he saw one of the water buckets.

No, they fill those with water and _drink_ out of that. That was absolutely the most disgusting place to relieve himself in.

But his time was up to look for an alternative. He felt his bladder preparing to discharge. He dragged over the bucket, dropped his shorts to his ankles, and let the stream flow….

His bladder became so exhausted he had to start and stop a few times. Each time he resumed his heart sank deeper with guilt. Why didn’t he just listen to Kunimi? Why did he keep drinking? Why didn’t he suck it up and tolerate the high temps like his teammates? He tried to ignore the dull hum of the bucket filling with liquid, ever reminding him of how deplorable he was to stoop this low.

He hated himself. “Normal” people didn’t pee in gym buckets. Now his concerns weren’t about being caught in the gym but what to do with this tub of urine. He’d never live it down if the school didn’t expel him.

Debased and humiliated, he pulled up his shorts in defeat, a sordid feeling of relief in his gut, catching a whiff of the pungent odor in the bucket.

He stepped back and cried.

He sat against the storeroom wall, pondering shortsighted options to cover his “accident.” There was no drain. Evaporation would take too long. He couldn’t pour it out inside. He’d have to wash the bucket out using the hose outside, but he couldn’t get there. He wouldn’t be able to get out until somebody unlocked the gym, and then it’d be too late.

His fought his sobs futilely. His innocence was gone it felt like. This was all because he thought he was worthy to be on Kitagawa’s volleyball team. How stupid was he? How dare he think he were good enough to play with such an exemplary setter as Oikawa? Why hadn’t he looked at the truth and tried out for basketball or soccer instead? How naïve, blind, foolish, and selfish he was, and now he was paying the price for it.

He gave up. He’d wait until morning, wait until getting caught, wait until his expulsion, and wait to start life over at a new school, with new friends, with new experiences, with a new sport and a new team.

Then, a sound that earlier would have been welcome terrified him. The padlock securing the gym door feel with a thudding clang. It was 11:30 at night when the door opened….

Yuutarou panicked. Even though his fate was inevitable, he couldn’t bear to face it. He shimmied behind a pile of gym mats in the storeroom to hide, leaving the storeroom light on and, worse, the soiled bucket in the center of the floor.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Oikawa cried as Iwaizumi yanked the third-year setter inside by the ear. Hajime scanned the gymnasium, looking for Kindaichi.

“See! He’s not even here. Maybe the captain chickened out and freed him,” Oikawa protested.

“How did they open the gym if you had the key?” Iwaizumi rebuked, and Oikawa shrugged indifferently. Not wanting to put up with this practical joke all night, Iwaizumi had literally dragged his friend back to the schoolgrounds to let the unfortunate target of the third-years’ prank free.

Kindaichi crouched down, shaking uncontrollably, head on the floor, hands over his head for futile protection.

Iwaizumi wandered into the storeroom where the light suspiciously was on. He scanned the surroundings. Kindaichi held his breath, sensing his senpai near.

There was a bucket bluntly in the middle of the room. Iwaizumi peeked inside, seeing a curious liquid. He swore it was….

Oh. That’s what it was.

He wanted to murder the team captain.

Iwaizumi scanned the room, positive the surely embarrassed first-year must be hiding in it somewhere. Despite Kindaichi’s impeccable silence, Hajime could nearly sense the boy hiding behind the piled mats. He held up a hand, signaling Oikawa to stop from approaching the storeroom and witnessing the bucket.

“He’s not here. We’re going,” he announced perfunctorily.

“You dragged me here in the middle of the night for nothing?!” Oikawa moaned.

“Shut up and get moving,” he ordered, and Oikawa grumpily stomped away. Iwaizumi made sure to take the urine-filled bucket with them, not letting Oikawa see its contents.

Seconds later, the gym’s sliding door pounded closed once more.

Yuutarou cried and leaned forward. He didn’t care how much noise he made. He banged the floor with his fist.

“I quit,” he mumbled. It was the only words he could say, and he repeated them as if the entire team were here to hear his resignation.

Continuing until his hunched-over pose began to be uncomfortable, he wriggled out of his hiding spot. The bucket was gone, and he felt as if his death sentence had been issued. No matter how much he wiped his cheeks with the back of his hands, his face still felt moist and his nose ran endlessly.

He stumbled back into the gym itself and collapsed in a fetal position on the floor, choking even more.

Then, the metallic whine of the door reopening made Kindaichi shriek.

He scrambled to his feet, and in this sorry, sullen state was he found by Hajime Iwaizumi holding a freshly cleaned bucket.

“I…,” Yuutarou squeaked, trying to come up with an excuse for being here as if he were guilty of something.

He teared up and collapsed.

In front of his senpai….

How pathetic.

Iwaizumi dropped the bucket that glittered with water droplets from the hose outside and ran up to the crying lad. The third-year wrapped his arms around his junior. Enticed by the warmth, Kindaichi beckoningly embraced him back, sobbing into his senior’s shoulder.

“It’s OK,” said Hajime, patting the younger boy’s back softly.

“Am I…getting kicked out?”

“You’re not getting kicked out.”

“Am I getting expelled?”

“You’re not getting expelled.”

“Am I…a loser?”

“You’re not a loser.”

Any further questions devolved into wailing gibberish.

Hajime rolled his palm gently over the vulnerable boy’s shoulder blades. “Hey. People aren’t always going to acknowledge your skill,” Iwaizumi said. “You’re good at volleyball. Don’t believe anyone who tells you otherwise.” Kindaichi continued to sob, almost in defiance of Iwaizumi’s blunt and honest attempts to console him. “Even the pros struggle sometimes. You have to push through those obstacles and the disbelievers, and show them how good you really are.”

Kindaichi’s whines began to break.

“You’re going to be a great player, and I look forward to watching you go pro.”

Those words suppressed Yuutarou’s heaves, and the young boy went silent.

“Got it?” Iwaizumi shook the boy gently.

Kindaichi sniffed, but this time, his heart felt warm. “Yeah….”

“Good,” said Iwaizumi and broke the embrace. The two stared at each other, one firmly to communicate protection, the other woundedly unable to do anything else.

Iwaizumi stepped back, commanding by his posture for Kindaichi to stand on his own two feet as well.

Yuutarou found the last of his sorrows cease instantly, and he rose, as tall as his senpai.

“I’ll walk you home. Tell your parents your phone died, and you stayed at my place.”

Kindaichi nodded, grateful.

Before Hajime guided Yuutarou to freedom, he returned the bucket to the storeroom and vengefully hoped to offer the captain a nice drink of urine water in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> For the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt "Locked Up and Left Behind" with Kindaichi.
> 
> (After this, someone ~~Iwaizumi~~ told the coach what happened, and the coach kicked the captain off the team, leading to Oikawa becoming captain.)
> 
> Visit my tumblr stylinbreeze60 to see how to submit for a prompt.


End file.
